


A Just and Proper Special: Imperial Radch Week

by SylvanAuctor



Category: Imperial Radch Series - Ann Leckie
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-09-20
Packaged: 2018-12-31 19:05:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12139083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylvanAuctor/pseuds/SylvanAuctor
Summary: Queter, Five and Sphene go to Teleh. For the Imperial Radch Week event leading up to the release of Provenance.





	1. Tuesday, September 19: Ship Day

Etrepa Lieutenant Queter declined the offer of an ancillary to carry her belongings to her room. She hoisted the patchwork bag over her shoulder and walked down the grey halls, alone with the unfamiliar thump of rigid-soled boots on plastic floor. She passed along the entire hall of Lieutenants’ quarters, scrutinizing each Emanation as she went. She never found the Etrepa.

            “Ship?” she asked. Her voice sounded both feeble and loud in the empty corridor. She wished to master that series of hand motions that would send her requests without speaking.

            _Having a bit of trouble, Lieutenant?_ The words appeared in her vision.

            “Yes. I don’t recognize the Etrepa here.”

            _There._ A circle appeared in her vision that highlighted the marking on one of the doors.

            “Oh. That’s not what it looks like in the temple.”

            _Of course not. After I throttle the Usurper I’m going to go after her graphic designer._

            Queter let out a small laugh at that. “I hope we can.” She walked up to the door and took a deep breath as she took hold of the handle. Turned it, went inside, spun in a circle until she found the little alcove where the Radchaai kept their many gods. Empty. Not even an Amaat or an Etrepa. Queter let out a sigh.

            _I see I judged properly,_ Sphene said.

            “You did, Ship. Thank you.”

            _The whole crew has today to rest. Unpack, and then do whatever you want._

Queter nodded. She checked the cabinets for her changes of uniform, and then unpacked her personal belongings from the patchwork bag Grandfather had made. She set a hand-carved wooden statue of her patron saint in the empty alcove, and said a short litany of prayers. Then, she pulled out the bag of tiles she had bought on Athoek Station, and played a few hands of solitaire. As she did, she sang.

            _You have a better voice than Justice of Toren,_ said _Sphene. What language is that? None I know._

            “Antalzig,” Queter said. “My parents’ language. I don’t actually speak it.” She made her face as close to ancillary-blank as she could, but was still pressingly aware that Sphene could see the emotions rush chemically through her body.

            _I’m sorry to hear that._

“And of course my children aren’t going to speak it,” Queter said. She didn’t know why she said anything. “Might not even speak Delsig. Is Uran even going to remember either, with Radchaai and Raswar in his head? Am I? And of course we can’t go back to Valskaay, since the Usurper has that province locked down.”

_I’ll see what I can do._

            “What could you?”

            _Give me a minute, Lieutenant._

She did.

            _As it turns out,_ Justice of Toren _has a friend in a province that the Usurper isn’t very interested in. And I told Captain Ettan and the other Lieutenants when they boarded that I do what I want when I want, so if they wish, they have an hour to leave before we take a quick jaunt._

“Where? What for?”

            _“Teleh, Limina Province. And begging your indulgence, you’ll just have to trust me.”_


	2. Wednesday, September 20: Music Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All songs are to this Irish tune: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FA2tvgXcqGA

Queter kept singing as _Sphene_ sped through gatespace, ballads and hymns that reminded her of home.

            _Ne ik bher na chalka, bher na chalka ik äy_

_zeivarah ðasenei sei, nimo chalka äy sei_

_Wait a minute._ The words from _Sphene_ appeared in Queter’s vision. _I know that tune._

“How?” Queter asked. “It’s Valskaayan.”

Justice of Toren _sings something by that tune, that she wrote herself._

“Oh.” A corpse warship singing a tune of her people felt wrong, even if that warship was a Fleet Captain, and had advocated for her. Still, she was curious. “May I see it?”

 _Sphene_ put the words in Queter’s vision. Disappointingly, they were in Radchaai. Queter read them anyway.

 

_And it’s no, nay, never_

_No, nay, never no more_

_Will I serve Anaander_

_No, never no more_

_I served Anaander two thousand years long_

_As the Justice of Toren, the Justice of Songs_

_But now I’m turned aiming at Omaugh and Tstur_

_And I never will serve Anaander no more_

_And it’s no, nay, never_

_No, nay, never no more_

_Will I serve Anaander_

_No, nay, never no more_

_I went down to a planet all covered in snow_

_And sought a collector whom I used to know_

_I asked for the weapon, she lied to me “Nay!”_

_“Such a vestige as that, I don’t have anyway!”_

_And it’s no, nay, never_

_No, nay, never no more_

_Will I serve Anaander_

_No, never no more_

_I said, “I’ve come to find you, this far from the Radch_

_And where I have succeeded, Anaander can match.”_

_She said “Fine, then take it, and shoot for the head.”_

_“Even though you may kill him, you will surely fall dead!”_

_And it’s no, nay, never_

_No, nay, never no more_

_Will I serve Anaander_

_No, never no more_

_On the concourse of Omaugh, I’ll tell what she’s done,_

_And I’ll blow out her brains with this Garseddai gun._

_And though I will die in a puddle of gore_

_I never will serve Anaander no more!_

Queter read the words several times over. These were the words of a Radchaai fleet captain? She trembled at the memory of what she had said to Breq.

 _“Do you even know,”_ she had said, the sound of her voice betraying she was about to cry, _“can you even imagine what it’s like to know that nothing you can do will make any difference? That nothing you can do will protect the people you love? That anything you could possibly ever do is less than worthless?”_

 _“And yet you do it anyway,”_ Breq had said.

“I was wrong about the Fleet Captain, then,” Queter said. “Breq Mianaai, _Justice of Toren,_ understands.”

_It does, yes._

“May I write something?”

 _Sphene_ opened a document in Queter’s vision. She wrote.

 

_I served Fosyf Denche by foreign decree_

_For the smallest of pay and the finest of tea_

_But now with the help of a good Fleet Captain_

_I never will serve savage Denche again_

_And it’s no, nay, never_

_No, nay, never again_

_Will I serve savage Denche_

_No, never again_

_Her cruel daughter approached me for improper trade_

_Between re-education or clientage paid_

_I took her instructions and followed them through_

_But the fool did not guess that I’d aim for her too_

_And it’s no, nay, never_

_No, nay, never again_

_Will I serve savage Denche_

_No, never again_

_I was brought before Justice, I told them my tale_

_Still firmly convinced that true justice would fail_

“I can’t think of a next line,” Queter said.

_May I try?_

“Sure.”

 

_But then I was questioned, and then I did see_

_That perhaps, justice can prevail ultimately_

“I like it.”

_Cousin will know I wrote it, though._

“How?”

Sphene told her the story.


End file.
